Dan Brown - Deception Point

Probably for Newark.

Although this plane’s current trajectory would bring it within four miles of the Goya , the flight path obviously was a matter of chance. Nonetheless, being vigilant, the Coast Guard pilot watched the blinking dot trace a slow-moving 110-knot line across the right side of his scope. At its closest point, the plane was about four miles west. As expected, the plane kept moving—heading away from them now.

4.1 miles. 4.2 miles.

The pilot exhaled, relaxing.

And then the strangest thing happened.

“Umbrella now engaged,” Delta-Two called out, giving the thumbs-up from his weapons control seat on the port side of the Kiowa gunship. “Barrage, modulated noise, and cover pulse are all activated and locked.”

Delta-One took his cue and banked hard to the right, putting the craft on a direct course with the Goya. This maneuver would be invisible to the ship’s radar.

“Sure beats bales of tinfoil!” Delta-Two called out.

Delta-One agreed. Radar jamming had been invented in WWII when a savvy British airman began throwing bales of hay wrapped in tinfoil out of his plane while on bombing runs. The Germans’ radar spotted so many reflective contacts they had no idea what to shoot. The techniques had been improved on substantially since then.

The Kiowa’s onboard “umbrella” radar-jamming system was one of the military’s most deadly electronic combat weapons. By broadcasting an umbrella of background noise into the atmosphere above a given set of surface coordinates, the Kiowa could erase the eyes, ears, and voice of their target. Moments ago, all radar screens aboard the Goya had most certainly gone blank. By the time the crew realized they needed to call for help, they would be unable to transmit. On a ship, all communications were radio– or microwave-based—no solid phone lines. If the Kiowa got close enough, all of the Goya ‘s communications systems would stop functioning, their carrier signals blotted out by the invisible cloud of thermal noise broadcast in front of the Kiowa like a blinding headlight.

Perfect isolation, Delta-One thought. They have no defenses.

Their targets had made a fortunate and cunning escape from the Milne Ice Shelf, but it would not be repeated. In choosing to leave shore, Rachel Sexton and Michael Tolland had chosen poorly. It would be the last bad decision they ever made.

Inside the White House, Zach Herney felt dazed as he sat up in bed holding the telephone receiver. “Now? Ekstrom wants to speak to me now ?” Herney squinted again at the bedside clock. 3:17 a.m.

“Yes, Mr. President,” the communications officer said. “He says it’s an emergency.”

While Corky and Xavia huddled over the electron microprobe measuring the zirconium content in the chondrules, Rachel followed Tolland across the lab into an adjoining room. Here Tolland turned on another computer. Apparently the oceanographer had one more thing he wanted to check.

As the computer powered up, Tolland turned to Rachel, his mouth poised as if he wanted to say something. He paused.

“What is it?” Rachel asked, surprised how physically drawn to him she felt, even in the midst of all this chaos. She wished she could block it all out and be with him—just for a minute.

“I owe you an apology,” Tolland said, looking remorseful.

“For what?”

“On the deck? The hammerheads? I was excited. Sometimes I forget how frightening the ocean can be to a lot of people.”

Face-to-face with him, Rachel felt like a teenager standing on the doorstep with a new boyfriend. “Thanks. No problem at all. Really.” Something inside her sensed Tolland wanted to kiss her.

After a beat, he turned shyly away. “I know. You want to get to shore. We should get to work.”

“For now.” Rachel smiled softly.

“For now,” Tolland repeated, taking a seat at the computer.

Rachel exhaled, standing close behind now, savoring the privacy of the small lab. She watched Tolland navigate a series of files. “What are we doing?”

“Checking the database for big ocean lice. I want to see if we can find any prehistoric marine fossils that resemble what we saw in the NASA meteorite.” He pulled up a search page with bold letters across the top:

Scrolling through the menus, Tolland explained, “Diversitas is essentially a continuously updated index of oceanic biodata. When a marine biologist discovers a new ocean species or fossil, he can toot his horn and share his find by uploading data and photos to a central databank. Because there’s so much new data discovered on a weekly basis, this is really the only way to keep research up-to-date.”

Rachel watched Tolland navigating the menus. “So you’re accessing the Web now?”

“No. Internet access is tricky at sea. We store all this data onboard on an enormous array of optical drives in the other room. Every time we’re in port, we tie into Project Diversitas and update our databank with the newest finds. This way, we can access data at sea without a Web connection, and the data is never more than a month or two out of date.” Tolland chuckled as he began typing search keywords into the computer. “You’ve probably heard of the controversial music file-sharing program called Napster?”

Rachel nodded.

“Diversitas is considered the marine biologist’s version of Napster. We call it LOBSTER—Lonely Oceanic Biologists Sharing Totally Eccentric Research.”

Rachel laughed. Even in this tense situation, Michael Tolland exuded a wry humor that eased her fears. She was beginning to realize she’d had entirely too little laughter in her life lately.

“Our database is enormous,” Tolland said, completing the entry of his descriptive keywords. “Over ten terabytes of descriptions and photos. There’s information in here nobody has ever seen—and nobody ever will. Ocean species are simply too numerous.” He clicked the “search” button. “Okay, let’s see if anyone has ever seen an oceanic fossil similar to our little space bug.”

After a few seconds, the screen refreshed, revealing four listings of fossilized animals. Tolland clicked on each listing one by one and examined the photos. None looked remotely like the fossils in the Milne meteorite.

Tolland frowned. “Let’s try something else.” He removed the word “fossil” from his search string and hit “search.” “We’ll search all living species. Maybe we can find a living descendant that has some of the physiological characteristics of the Milne fossil.”

The screen refreshed.

Again Tolland frowned. The computer had returned hundreds of entries. He sat a moment, stroking his now stubble-darkened chin. “Okay, this is too much. Let’s refine the search.”

Rachel watched as he accessed a drop-down menu marked “habitat.” The list of options looked endless: tide pool, marsh, lagoon, reef, mid-oceanic ridge, sulfur vents. Tolland scrolled down the list and chose an option that read: DESTRUCTIVE MARGINS/OCEANIC TRENCHES.

Smart, Rachel realized. Tolland was limiting his search only to species that lived near the environment where these chondrulelike features were hypothesized to form.

The page refreshed. This time Tolland smiled. “Great. Only three entries.”

Rachel squinted at the first name on the list. Limulus poly... something.

Tolland clicked the entry. A photo appeared; the creature looked like an oversized horseshoe crab without a tail.

“Nope,” Tolland said, returning to the previous page.

Rachel eyed the second item on the list. Shrimpus Uglius From Hellus. She was confused. “Is that name for real?”